


Nightfall

by Kanthia



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: F/M, Mentioned Eirika/Seth, Mentioned L'Arachel/Ephraim, Sad Ending, Spoilers, side Innes/Eirika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanthia/pseuds/Kanthia
Summary: Trust and sacrifice, all too often, come hand-in-hand. (or: a class change goes awry.)





	Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarkoftheAsphodel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkoftheAsphodel/gifts).



> Originally written as a Christmas gift for MarkoftheAsphodel in 2009...I recently rediscovered this fic and thought it could stand up on its own with a bit of spit and polish.

(The story ends, as most comedies do, with a marriage.)

One might fault an army of children and mercenaries for assuming that war was something that ended as soon as the enemy commander was killed. When the company emerges triumphant from the Darkling Woods it is from the mundane, simple task of war with the supernatural to the overwhelming responsibility of reconstructing three ruined nations: Renais, still smouldering; Jehanna, whose queen is a bloodstain and whose prince is ten years out of time; and Grado, in complete and utter disarray. It fell on them to rebuild their world from nothing.

“All Renais needs is time and money,” Innes says, looking out from his bedchambers to Frelia spread beneath him. It’s a sight he’s grown fond of: the cobblestone roads and cottage industry of the capital city, the dark green forests and blue sky beyond. It’s pastoral, quiet, peaceful even. To a servant or a peasant trapped in the castle, without news from the outside world, one might have assumed nothing had happened at all -- that the prince and princess had left for a few months on a merry little hunting trip. “That’s all.”   
  
“And faith,” comes Tana’s voice, as she digs through his dresser. “And trust, too, trust in Eirika and Ephraim. They need to see that Frelia supports them. Try this one on?”

He tries the suit on. He’d been leaning towards his light blue coat, which makes him look sharp -- and he’d had it altered to have more give in the shoulders, for impromptu duels or archery demonstrations. Tana insists it looks, and functions, too much like his hunting gear; how inappropriate for a wedding. She hands him the dark grey waistcoat edged in hunter green, says it brings out his hair and eyes. He thinks it makes him look like a mossy rock.

When the company departs for Renais it is flanked by a retinue of Frelia’s finest pegasus riders, and a single knight mounted on a wyvern.  
  


* * *

  
“Titania.” 

“Senil.” Vanessa gives a strained smile.

“Oh.” Lute blinks three times, then knots her brow in confusion. “You rode a pegasus named Titania.”

“Titania’s with a squire now. Give his chin a skritch? He likes that.”

Lute does, and the beast gives a throaty purr. “Frelia isn’t known for wyvern riders.”

“He was -- a gift, from Prince Innes. It would be in bad taste for a knight to --”

“-- You’re blushing.”

“-- Well, I --”

“How come Prince Innes isn’t marrying Princess Eirika?”  
  


* * *

  
“Nice suit. Sister pick it out for you?”

Innes grimaces, but nods ever so slightly.

“She give you the whole ‘it brings out your eyes’ talk?”

“Not another word.”

Gerik takes another swig of his drink, smiling the good-natured smile of a mercenary who has learned how to pal around with nobility. Claps Innes on the shoulder, and they toast to Renais, to the restoration, to the four newlyweds.

The sound of laughter draws their attention. Across the hall, Tana, Eirika and Lute are engaged in some kind of animated conversation with L’Arachel. Innes can’t help but feel a surge of pride at how lovely Tana looks -- Eirika’s bridesmaids are dressed in teal, in contrast to L’Arachel’s in green. They’re debating whose bridal gown is better, Eirika’s corseted piece with its tiered skirt and red sash or L’Arachel’s melodramatic beaded mess, long sleeves, attached veil, pearls everywhere. Innes finds Eirika radiant as usual and scowls to bury the thought.

“This is good for Renais,” he says, instead of thinking about Eirika’s dress, or the way Seth looks as he comes up behind her and loops his arm around her waist. He whispers something to her and she turns up and kisses him, gently, on the mouth. L’Arachel shouts something, scandalized, about public displays of affection between husband and wife on their wedding day. Then Ephraim grabs her by the shoulder, spins her around, dips her at the waist, and kisses her with far too much tongue -- to the shocked gasps of aristocrats and the cheers of the heroes of the Second War of the Sacred Stone.

“This is good,” Innes repeats, as L’Arachel drags Ephraim off, to chastise him or to consummate their marriage, perhaps both. “Rausten’s coffers will assist Renais’ reconstruction. And L’Arachel’s, uh, spirit, will bolster the people.”

“And if they get tired of her there’s always the thrilling story of love between a noblewoman and her knight,” Gerik says, gesturing vaguely to Eirika and Seth, who are now entertaining the king of Jehanna and his entourage. Despite everything Joshua still carries himself like a commoner, a trait Innes is not sure if he finds infuriating or admirable; how unlike Seth, who from the moment he proposed has carried himself like a prince. “Nothing like a little forbidden courtly romance to rip a few bodices, eh?”

“Hm?” Innes’ attention has wandered elsewhere, to the curve of Eirika’s back.

Gerik shrugs. “Just saying, Prince. You wait too long and she might go and write her own fairy tale.” By the refreshments, Tethys is beckoning with a curled finger. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Innes lets him go, wondering what exactly he’d meant. They do look happy together, King Ephraim and Queen L’Arachel, Lady Eirika and Lord Seth; and Gerik is right, the people of Renais adore the story of how Seth and Eirika came to love one another. Time and money and faith, that’s how you rebuild a nation. Renais will soon once again be the strong ally of Frelia it has always been. That’s the hallmark of a master tactician: you look ahead, you plan for the long term, you make sacrifices.

He’d been involved in every stage of arranging the marriages.  
  


* * *

  
It’s a still night, hot and dry, and when Moulder shakes Vanessa awake when it’s not her turn for watch she immediately grabs for her lance. As the war has dragged on they’ve all been getting antsy; Vanessa hasn’t slept well since she left Frelia all those weeks ago. He grips her shoulder, tells her they’re not under attack, but that Prince Innes has asked that she gear up and join him at the stables.

So she does, slips on her tunic and breastplate, trying not to think of what it means for a prince to call a knight to his side in the dead of night. Splashes water on her face by the light of Moulder’s torch. Knows better than to imagine he’s asked for her to make good on his promise to get to know the other side of her, but --

Prince Innes is by the makeshift stables, using a stump to scribble notes on a map. He turns at the sound of her feet -- one can never startle a hunter, much less Prince Innes -- and she’s startled at the way the torchlight highlights the proud jut of his chin, his high, sharp cheekbones, the intelligence in his eyes. Heat rushes to her face. Moulder takes his leave.

“Vanessa,” he says, rolling up the map and setting it in a canvas bag. Reaches into the bag and pulls out something that glints in the dark. “Come here.”

She does, heart pounding.

“Do you know what this is?”   
  
It’s an Elysian Whip.

“You make a fine Pegasus Knight,” he says.

Her mouth is dry. There’s a strange stirring in her stomach, and she feels light-headed. She’s a knight, damn it! She nods, hears herself saying, “Thank you, Prince Innes.”

“Our army has two units of flying mounts -- pegasi, which excel at defending against enemy magic, and wyverns, which are stronger offensively. They’re speedy beasts, good at picking off ballisticians and weak points in the enemy’s formation. They’re also the core of Grado’s army, and we’re not exactly swimming in defectors right now. Do you follow?”

(Not really.) “Yes, Prince Innes.”

He sighs, and his shoulders drop. For a single moment he looks like he’s made a decision and it weighs heavily on him, like he’s less a prince and more a man. “We captured an enemy mount, with a saddle and harness we think you'd fit. You’ve been due for a promotion for a while, and Cormag’s our only wyvern rider. We need another. Now do you follow?”

She does. She can’t help but feel her face drop; it’s her or Tana, and who, at the end of the day, is Prince Innes more willing to send to the front lines?

“Yes, Prince Innes.”

“Come, then. Bring the whip. The brute needs a name, if you can think of one. Titania’s saddled up -- we’re sending her back to Frelia at first light.” He takes her hand -- it’s a startlingly intimate gesture, for him -- and leads her into the stables, where something growls in the dark.

It was her fault, really, for thinking this was some sort of jaunt into the wilderness, some sort of deal, or test, or chance to fall in love, or something fated. This was war. Nothing mattered but skill and chance, and Prince Innes was only trying to weight one over the other.  
  


* * *

  
So when the dust has settled, Titania’s with a new recruit and Vanessa is left flying an enemy mount. She can’t do daily exercises with the squad, when Senil’s a different size and speed and weight than the rest of them. She watches them from the ground, and trains alone at night.

The night they return from the wedding she takes Senil into the forest west of the castle. She hadn’t had the time, with the reception and the banquet and the festivities and the procession that followed, to feed him properly.

She doesn’t mind Senil -- he’s fast and powerful and has a good instinct for getting out of trouble, takes a childlike glee in flying as fast as he can, can barrel straight up or down in a way no pegasus ever could. She feels wicked and deadly astride him. He’s also temperamental, spooks the other pegasi, and is, quite frankly, kind of stupid. She hasn’t nearly the bond with him that she had with Titania, although she supposes that will come in time. In the weeks following her promotion she'd almost gotten killed on a handful of occasions when she'd misjudged her centre of balance or he'd decided not to listen at a critical moment. He also won’t touch the carrots or lettuce that the castle stables provide -- she’s learned to hunt through necessity, and though spearing bunnies from fifty feet in the air is its own kind of thrill, she sometimes wishes he’d tear into them with a little less relish.

They soar just above the treetops. The forest is an ocean dark green against the dark blue of the sky, a full moon, a chill in the air. It’s peaceful, beautiful, as if there had never been a war, as if the world is just Vanessa and Senil, a Frelian knight and her Gradoan mount.

Senil suddenly snorts, shifts, his nose twitching as he folds his wings in. She leans forward in her harness as he dive-bombs towards a very unlucky stag --

\-- And it’s dead before they hit the ground, two arrows in its flank.

Senil roars, screeches to a halt two feet from the ground, almost throwing her. She unclips and dismounts in a forward roll. Only visible by the light of the moon is a very bewildered Prince Innes.

“Oh.” He reaches down and pulled the arrows from the stag. “I couldn’t sleep, and -- I’ve no use for it. Senil can have it.”

Senil huffs. She shrugs. “He won’t eat anything we haven’t killed ourselves.” He stalks into the woods for a mouthful of mice, or a squirrel perhaps, leaving Vanessa alone with Innes and a carcass. He seems tired in a way that no amount of sleep could cure; she wonders if the wedding had something to do with it. She wonders if somewhere, in the air between them, is the need for an apology.

They stand there, along in the moonlight, until he suddenly speaks. “There was an earthquake in Grado today,” he says, flatly, without affect.

News has not yet reached Frelia. “Was it --”

“--Yes. The one Lyon spoke of.” He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “Initial reports suggest the damage is catastrophic. Rausten is tied up with affairs in Renais, and Jehanna has neither the funds nor the soldiers to spare. It falls on Frelia to lend aid.”

“So you’re sending us in, then. To bring food and water?”   
  
“I will not send a single soldier until we’ve properly assessed the situation. The situation in Grado is still extremely fragile. When we’ve determined whether or not we need to establish martial law, we --”

“--Are you _joking_?”

“I do not joke _,_ ” he snaps.

“Send _me_ in then!” He raises his gaze to meet hers, eyes wide in shock; she’s silent for a moment, startled by the force of her own words. She knows she’s crossed a line -- openly disagreed with a prince -- and there is no turning back. "Send Senil and I to do the assessing. We can be there and back faster than anyone."

He presses his lips together. For a long moment he sees torn. She fights the need to kiss him, to do something grand and romantic like carrying him on horseback out of Renais. Then: “I sacrificed you once, Vanessa. Not again.”

"What are you --" Senil skulks out of the woods with a smug expression on his face, blood dripping down his chin. "-- Prince Innes. This isn't about making sacrifices. This is about saving people."

"Don't make me regret that decision any more than I do now, Vanessa."

"And don't treat me like I'm special just because of one decision you made. I'm a knight, not some sort of -- you gave me Senil because you needed me to be on the front lines, not at the back. Won’t you let me do that one more time?"

"Vanessa, I --"’

She places a kiss on his cheek, turns to Senil, and _that_ , as far as she is concerned, is her final answer.  
 

* * *

 

  
(He never sees her again.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 Find me on [tumblr](http://kanthia.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
